Prince Hamlet, My Roommate
by Edna Pests
Summary: A prequel to the play, where Hamlet and Horatio meet for the first time at Wittenberg
1. First Meeting

Hamlet. Suicide. The thought and the man are irrevocably linked. Even if you haven't heard his story, you know he once contemplated killing himself. Yet the larger part of Hamlet's life was not spent in dark brooding. Far from it. It's this other side of him that I want to show you, for no picture of him can be complete without a glimpse into his past, before his grief transformed him, back when he was just another student at Wittenberg. Albeit, a very famous student.

Hamlet always seemed to be laughing at something. He was good at laughing, and bringing it out of other people. When he started, you felt ashamed if you didn't join in quickly enough. Whatever he deemed funny _was.__funny._ It's not that he was a bullying character. It was his entourage that made those with low self-esteem quake at his approach.

"This is the _prince_, right?" Guildenstern seemed to shout. "And if he's laughing, _you__better__laugh__too!_"

So Hamlet was kept away from the better class of friend, as the worthier people were all frightened or disgusted with the picture his gang painted of him. The very reason I hadn't talked to my roommate since he'd moved in. Hamlet showed restraint unusual to him by following my lead, and didn't talk to me either. Until one day- Jove save us- the prince got _bored_.

I was broken sharply from my literature induced reverie as I felt a sudden weight on the bed I was sitting in. I looked over my book. The space next to me was full of prince.

The book was plucked from my hands, and examined upside down. Of course. No other prey around, so it was finally my turn.

"Words, words, words." Hamlet said. "Don't you ever get tired of them, Horatio?"

"No, my lord, I do not." I said, flatly, refusing to play his game. I made a grab for my book, but Hamlet made a spazzy dive to keep it from me, and fell off the bed. He popped up on his feet as though nothing had happened.

"'_My__lord',"_ he said, mockingly. "You see, I did you the courtesy or referring to you by name. Why don't you return the favor?"

"That would not be proper, my lord."

"And you always worry about what's proper? Then why are you always cooped up in here? It's hardly proper for a bloke of your age to have his nose glued in one of these rather than having a drink down at the pub."

"You mistake 'proper' for 'common', my lord."

"Ooh, calling names now, are we? Come on! How common am I, then?"

"I never said-"

"You know right well what you did. You called any man who prefers drinking deep to reading deeper common, a preference of which I am proud."

"Proud of being common, my lord?"

"If by 'common' you mean 'person who prefers _living_ to digesting another pound of paper and glue', Hell yes!"

"Hell is not an affirmation, my lord." I said, unperturbed.

He leaned towards me. I used the opportunity to _snatch__my__book__back__and__emerge__victorious-_No, he dangled it away again.

"And _I_ am not _your_lord. Why, I might be _anybody's_ aristocrat!"

"Very well." I said, with a tight smile. "I think I'll have no difficulty addressing you with less respect."

"You see, that's the problem with you." he said, sadly. "You think too much."

"And you too little."

"Oh, ho, ho! Found a backbone now, have we?"

"I have had one for some time, but I cannot speak for yours."

I made one final grab for the book, still trying to save it from it's inevitable death in the pig muck, but again failed, and my frustration reached it's peak.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"That people with backbones don't panic at the thought of no audience!" I snapped.

There was a pause. Then Hamlet laughed. I pointedly didn't, and it finally got through to him that I wasn't enjoying this.

He tossed the book back, surprising me.

"There, good Horatio." he said. "Never fear. I won't pursue your company again."

What a liar.


	2. Duel

I couldn't understand his logic. We'd just had an _argument_, and _because_ of this he expected us to be friends. I was determined not to jump on the Prince Hamlet bandwagon, even if it meant being thrown in the stocks. But oblivious Hamlet continued with his confusing tactics. An argument was a friendly joke, a prank was a pat on the back, and a duel to the death- well, he might as well have brought out the ring.

I was on my way to the library, my usual roost, when I heard the cries of the most unlikely of tenants coming from inside.

"You fight like a Norwegian!" Guildenstern cried.

"How dare you impugn my honor!" Rosencrantz shouted.

"If you had any armor to be impugned, _then_ we could talk." Guildenstern said dryly.

Then the sound of metal hitting metal. I stopped in the archway. Unable to find any other use for the library, they were dueling in it. The librarian was dead, or drunk. And Hamlet was perched on top of a chair, watching complacently. I'd have been content to leave them to cut each other up, but then I saw that their mess was bringing them closer and closer to the marble bust of the founder of Wittenberg.

"Stop, fools!" I was saying before I knew it. "You know not what you do!"

The two of them sprang apart as I ran forward, checked on the antique, and turned on them.

"This has been here since Wittenberg was built, and you're going to break it for a duel you shouldn't even be having?" I snapped. "What exactly were you hoping to accomplish with those?"

"Die for our country!" Rosencrantz said, stoutly.

I gave him a dry look. "Well, I'd say you're off to a great start." I turned to Hamlet. "What are your sycophants talking about? We're not at war. Unless you've managed to start one, which wouldn't surprise me."

Hamlet put a hand to his chest. "Ouch!" and hopped down. "Well, you see, Hor', there are a lot of rumor that the Norwegian king- that's Fortinbras- is gathering up an army to invade Denmark."

"S'blood-" I turned on the clowns. "will you two believe _anything?_ Fortinbras has been making that threat for _years_. He can't make a single move without his uncle cutting him off."

Guildenstern tilted his head.

"You know what I think?" he said.

"You've surprised me already." I said.

"_I _think you're making excuses." he said, advancing on me.

"Yes!" Rosencrantz joined in, eagerly. "It's a lot better if there's no war for bookworms who can't fence, innit?"

"Don't be childish." I said reflexively. I could sense a beating coming.

"_Can_ you fence_, _or _can't_ you?" Guildenstern demanded.

"Not in _your _ league." I said.

"Ooh!" crooned Hamlet, who was enjoying this of course. His thugs were on either side of me now.

"Ha ha, all bite and no bark!" Rosencrantz declared, intelligently.

"Sour grape scholar!" Guildenstern spat.

"Coward!" Rosencrantz jeered.

And it started. Rosencrantz shoved me roughly, slamming me into Guildenstern, who grabbed my collar in a strangle hold.

"Gentlemen, _enough!_" Hamlet said, sharply. "Release him! This is no way to solve this!"

We all stared at him, surprised. He calmly took their swords, and shoved one into my hand.

"_This_ is how we solve it." he said, elegantly.

His thugs grinned, and backed up as we started to circle each other.

"What's the _point?_" I said. "You're risking both of our lives for a _whim!"_

"No," he said, calmly, twirled his rapier skillfully, and pointed it at me. "I'm only risking _yours._"

And he charged with a child-like battle cry.


	3. Pigeon

And before I knew it, my hand was automatically moving to whisk his blade out of its path. As we exchanged blows, I read Hamlet's intentions in the strengths of his blows- he wasn't trying to wound, merely to have fun. Still, the blades were sharp, this whole endeavor was foolish, and better ended as quickly as possible. I stepped up my game, and after I nearly disarmed him, Hamlet let out an appreciative cry of, "Holy St. Francis!"

"I _don't_ fence." I said. "Doesn't mean I can't."

A moment later, Hamlet's blade had tapped my side. I feined pain, and fell to one knee. His expression instantly flipped to one of concern.

"Oh, s'blood," he said, coming closer, "are you alright?"

My dull blade twitched out, and rapped his leg. He hopped back, grinned, and came back for more. A moment later, he'd tapped me again.

"Ha!" crowed Hamlet. "Another hit! What say you?"

I smacked him.

"Aack!" Hamlet expressed.

I apologize: to you, the receiver of this story, and to myself, but I was starting to enjoy myself. In fact, I began so enraptured that I didn't realize I was backing up further and further until-

"Look out!" Hamlet ejaculated.

My back knocked into the antique, which wobbled cruelly for a moment, before landing on the floor with a deafening crash. To make matters worse, a stately older gentleman chose that moment to round the corner.

"Headmaster Himrich!" Exclaimed I.

He looked at us, looked at the bust that lay in two pieces, and looked back at me.

"Is anyone going to explain this?" he said, evenly.

My heart was thudding. I couldn't afford to be expelled. I wouldn't be able to afford another school.

"Ah-" I fumbled.

Hamlet jumped in front of me.

"An unfortunate victim of Lady Fortune, Headmaster." Hamlet said, in his silkiest voice. "We found the air too stuffy to concentrate, and we couldn't bear the thought of doing poorly at our studies, so we opened the window. Alas, a hungry pigeon took the opportunity to fly into these hallowed halls, and fatally collided with the beloved bust. We all heartily feel it's loss, but there was nothing we could do-"

The headmaster put a finger under the tip of Hamlet's sword, and raised it.

"Ha ha, yes," said Hamlet, "about that…_Hide, fox, and all after!"_

And with that, he and his thugs fled the scene, leaving me alone with the headmaster.

Who looked at me.

And folded his arms.

I grasped for the right thing to say.

"…Heh heh-"


End file.
